


Perfect Men (Tyre Marks and Guns in the Dark)

by Los_Gwilwileth



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Community: avengerkink, Dark, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Non-Sexual Blood Play, Physical Abuse, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Verbal Humiliation, no sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Los_Gwilwileth/pseuds/Los_Gwilwileth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Avengerkink prompt:</p><p>Howard is a horrible, abusive father and Tony hates him. Maria never stands up for him, staying silent and watching Howard. Tony grows up hating both of them.</p><p>When Tony turns 17, Howard abuses him again, and Tony just smiles at him. Then when they're on their way back from the gala, their tires get shot out and an accident occurs. Maria is killed immediately, but Howard survives, though he's badly injured. Howard looks out the window to see Tony in front of him with a gun.</p><p>Tony tells him how happy he is that he won't have to listen to him anymore and throws all his flaws and failures in his face, giving back as good as he gave. Howard can't say anything from the pain and shock. He tells Howard he'll see him in hell and then walks away and fires at the gas area, making the car blow up and kill Howard.</p><p>Tony walks away and thanks the Asset for hitting the tires as he goes.</p><p>When deprogrammed Bucky meets Tony, he remembers what he did, but keeps Tony's secret.</p><p>  <i>Tonight, he is perfect.</i></p><p> </p><p>Full Warnings inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Men (Tyre Marks and Guns in the Dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt:
> 
> Prompt link: [Original Prompt Thread](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19994.html?thread=48126490#t48126490)
> 
> Howard is a horrible, abusive father. He thinks that he's "helping" Tony become a man, but all he does is make Tony hate him. Maria never stands up for him, but remains silent and just watches Howard hurt him. Tony grows up hating both of them.
> 
> When Tony turns 17, Howard verbally abuses him again, and Tony just smiles at him. It unsettles Howard and he just leaves. Then when they're on their way back from the gala, their tires get shot out and they end up in an accident. Maria is killed immediately, but Howard survives, though he's badly injured. He tries to crawl out of the wreckage of the car when someone steps in front of him and he looks up, horrified, to see Tony kneeling in front of him with a gun.
> 
> Tony tells him how happy he is that he won't have to listen to him anymore and throws all his flaws and failures in his face, giving back as good as he gave. Howard can't say anything from the pain and shock. He tells Howard he'll see him in hell and then walks away and fires at the gas area, making the car blow up and kill Howard.
> 
> Tony walks away and thanks the Winter Soldier for hitting the tires as he goes.
> 
> Bonus: When deprogrammed Bucky meets Tony, he remembers what he did and he's horrified, but he keeps the secret at Tony's asking.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Child abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, **non-sexual** forced blood play, mentions of abortion, verbal humiliation, drunkeness, disregards for gun safety.
> 
> This is Howard's car, the Ferrari F40 [Ferrari F40](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/52/F40ferarri20090509.jpg)
> 
> This is Tony's car, the Acura NSX [Acura NSX](http://hooniverse.com/wp-content/gallery/1991-acura-nsx/1991-acura-nsx-red-black-2.jpg)
> 
> Fun Trivia: Did you know that the car Tony drives in the Avengers is an Acura? See [this article](http://www.motor1.com/news/29631/tony-starks-9-million-acura-from-avengers-film-caught/) for more information.
> 
> Also, I've changed Tony's age to make it more canon (Tony was 21 when his father died, not 17, and I figured that Canon! Howard probably did some important shit in those extra four years, but don't quote me on that.)
> 
> There's a reference to a secret club in this fic, so tell me if you find it in the comments.
> 
> No beta, so there probably more mistakes in this story than you can point an empty bottle of JD at. Feel free to point out these errors, I don't mind.
> 
> I own nothing.

Tony is five when it starts.

Howard comes home in a drunken stupor, bellowing and snorting like an enraged bull. Tony looks at his reddened face and wonders if fire will come pouring out of his nostrils, setting Tony alight like a New Year's firework.

"Worthless, ignorant scum!" He shouts, spraying Tony with beery spittle. "Why your mother ever did decide to squirt you out I don't know. Should've pulled you out when you were just a seed in her belly and fed you to the dogs. Or grabbed you by the legs when you came out into this world and showed you the business end of a gun."

Tony shivers and huddles into the couch, knowing he should run but seeing no escape past Howard's body. He cannot understand all of what Howard is saying but he knows the Threat in his voice like the oldest of friends. The Threat has always been there, for as long as Tony can remember, even when he was young and Howard bounced him on his knee as he talked to Mother, suspending Tony in the air for just a little _too_ long, the barest whisper of a threat that he could let Tony go and see him drop to the floor at any moment.

A faint noise catches his attention and he turns his head towards the staircase, seeing his mother ascending the stairs, face averted from the scene below. She reaches the top stair and turns to go into one of the many rooms upstairs, and Tony begins to cry out, a plea to help him, to save him from-

His voice is silenced by Howard's fist slamming into his jaw, rocking his head back and sending a shock of pain through his head. He whimpers and curls up into a ball, wanting to beg Howard to stop but his jaw hurts too much to form words. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills Howard away in his head as the blows rain down. Howard's screaming something but he can't hear, it's all too much and too confusing, an overload on his young senses, _too much data at once, stop, Father, please! I don't have the memory, let me build something better, please, I promise, I promise, I'll be perfect!_

After an eternity, the pain stops and he's about to open his eyes to see if Howard thinks that he has learnt his lesson when he feels something wet and sticky hit his cheek. He waits until he hears Howard walk away, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He opens his eyes and wipes Howard's spit from his cheek, smearing it on the plush velvet of the couch. Then he closes his eyes and counts upwards from one until his brain feels dull and slow, barely able to focus on the most basic of things, an the tears no longer feel like they'll fall out of his eyes like too many marbles in a too-small bowl. He's learned his lesson.

**_Perfect men don't cry._ **

 

On his tenth birthday, Howard comes down to the kitchen with his hands behind his back, obviously hiding something.

"I've got a present for yoo-ouuu!" He sing-songs, voice cloyingly, sickeningly sweet like the fake maple syrup on the pancakes that Jarvis made for him as a birthday treat. Tony knows that he shouldn't trust Howard, that he should refuse Howard's gift no matter how tempting it is. But another, larger part of him that is starved for Howard's approval, that wants to hear some scrap of praise from Howard's lips, makes him hunger for something, _anything_ , any words to prove that he is perfect. 

This is the part of him that has ignored the intermittent beatings that Howard gives him, that relies on the residual innocence and naivety of youth to coax him into believing that maybe Howard has seen a part of him that isn't fit for the scrapyard, instead could be welded and reformed into something that could be used for a purpose.

He twists around in the big oak dining chair, eyes bright and sparkling with the idea of a present. From his _father_. His heart feels to big for his chest, puffed up with the knowledge that maybe Howard is finally seeing how flawless Tony could be, a diamond with no imperfections that is worth more than any other found.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands, palm up." Howard instructs, and Tony does so eagerly. He can hear Howard coming closer, and a quiet noise indicates movement. Tony's mouth curves up in a broad smile, excitement sparking through his veins as he imagines his present.

"Close your hands into fists." Howard tells him, and he does so enthusiastically, curling his fingers in and squeezing down as hard as he can as he can and he-

 _Screams_ , a blade cutting deep into the soft flesh of his fingers and palm. He shudders and feels the blade scrape across bone, igniting a fresh flame of agony that tears at his nerves, setting them alight with bright pain that illuminates his world in a silver glow, bleeding red tearing at the horizon in his sanctuary of pain and peace.

"You can open your eyes now." Howard says, and Tony is helpless to do anything but obey. His eyes snap open, pupils so large they could swallow the sun, and stares at the bloody ruin that used to be his hands. He notices, distantly, that he is still holding the knife, a wicked double-edged blade with a matte black handle. Blood is pouring onto the floor and table, landing in sticky splashes and drips like the silly string he got as a present when he was seven.

"Look at yourself." Howard barks, tone derisive and mocking. "You're a mess. You aren't even fit to look at me, you pathetic creature. Do you see the blood, Tony? _Do you see the blood?_ Blood means failure. Men like me bleed for no one."

Tony's frozen, paralysed by shock and pain. His limbs feel like lead and he doesn't resist as Howard seizes a fistful of his hair and slams his head into the red puddle on the table. He can hear something crack and an intense pain shoots through his face. His nose feels blocked and he snorts, blood and mucus drooling from his nostrils onto the priceless walnut table. Howard smashes his face into the fluids, twisting his hand so that Tony's head smears them across the polished surface, then lifts Tony's head a scant half inch from the table.

"Lick it up." Howard demands, and Tony sobs, salty tears joining the muck on the table. He can't see any way out of this situation, though, so he sticks out his tongue and laps at the lacrimal claret like a dog, a mindless beast trained into total obedience by pain. He keeps licking until he's cleared a patch the size of a saucer, then Howard drags him back up from the table and smacks his head against the back of the chair.

"Do you hear me, Tony? Blood is weakness." Howard's gaze looks surprisingly lucid through the glaze of tears coating Tony's eyes, and he wonders if Howard finds clarity in Tony's confusion. 

"Can you taste the blood, Tony? _Can you taste the blood?_ That's the taste of failure. Don't you ever forget that taste, Tony. Blood means weakness, Tony, so you should bleed for no one. If you bleed, you are base, lower than any man, lower than any scavenger on the street rooting through people's trash. People bleed for you, Tony, not the other way round."

As Howard storms off, Tony takes a deep breath and absorbs the truths that Howard has revealed to him, heart deflating like a lanced boil and leaking the lies that he had been spoon-fed throughout his years.

**_Perfect men don't bleed._ **

 

At fifteen years old, Tony still doesn't like being handed things. The blade is kept in a box in his room, wrapped in newspaper. A reminder. Howard's beatings continue, and Tony weathers them like a tree does a storm, only his branches were stripped of leaves long ago.

Howard's voice is rough with drink as he stumbles into Tony's room, slamming the door behind him and gesturing towards the walls with the vodka bottle clutched in his left hand.

"I payed for all this shit!' He roars, tottering towards the bed where Tony is perched. "And you know what you gave me in return? Nothing! You gave me _nothing_ , you wretched little fuck! Why don't you contribute to my industry, you worthless bastard! Did you think daddy was going to pay for all of this? That isn't the way life works. If someone gives you a debt, you pay off that fucking debt! You've been leeching off my money and thinking that you can get away with it-until now. You're paying for everything now. You're paying. Oh, how you'll pay!"

Howard rushes towards Tony, an he cowers on the bed, turning away as the bottle comes down hard on his back, shattering with a dull crunch on Tony's back, like a beetle being squashed under a boot. Pain arcs across his back, a thousand needles tipped with agony, and he waits for the next onslaught.

He pants as he braces himself, sucking breath into lungs that refuse to inflate, numb with shock. He can hear Howard snarling behind him like some sort of giant beast, and then several crashes and clatters preceded by muted thuds that indicate Howard destroying various things around his room. After a few minutes, Howard leaves, slamming the door once again on the way out.

Tony turns to survey the damage, ignoring the jabbing pain in his back as he analyses the wreckage that Howard has left behind. 

He does not cry when he sees the model plane that he, Jarvis and Maria put together when he was three reduced to a crumpled pile. He does not cry when he peels off his bloodstained shirt in the bathroom and sees the myriad shards of glass caught in the cloth. He does not cry when he takes the tweezers his mother uses to pluck her eyebrows with and pulls out the shards of glass embedded in his back, and the cool drops of unevaporated vodka trickle down his skin into the wounds. He does not cry, for Howard has shown him what passes for kindness in his mind and taught him a lesson.

**_Perfect men show no mercy._ **

 

Tony is twenty-one this year, and a man with scars that tell his tale better than a thousand tabloids. Tonight, he is a weapon, a knife that cuts people apart like no other blade ever designed.

He suffers through endless handshakes and greetings that night, smiling and nodding and the very definition of charming politeness, a socialite snake with eyes only for the kill. He keeps an eye on the two people he shares a house with, no longer their flesh and blood but a stranger to their eyes. 

When all the crawling, pathetic, gussied-up flesh writhing in the ballroom becomes too much for his refined senses, he thinks of the empty box in his bedroom, and the hard line pressed to the right of his lower spine, concealed under his thick suit jacket. He remembers his lessons.

They're driving back from the gala on Long Island. Howard is at the wheel of his Ferrari F40, letting the chill buzz of the night air take over from the warm glow from the scotch he had drunk previously. Tony watches him from the comfort of his own Acura NSX, sure fingers gripping the steering wheel as he observes his parents, illuminated like devil-touched angels in the frosty moonlight.

At a bend in the road, the tarmac shaded by small groups of pine trees, there's a loud bang as one of Howard's front tires is reduced to shreds of rubber. A second bang follows, and Tony smiles as he applies the brakes and watches the Ferrari spin across the road, leaving dark streaks of rubber. A sound like aluminium foil being crumpled, only a hundred times louder in the still air, accompanies the Ferrari smashing into a clump of pines.

Tony waits a minute, then gets out of his car, walking over to the scene of the accident. It's even better than he hoped. From what he can see, a young sapling had penetrated the windscreen and into the car, branches bristling everywhere like the back of an aggravated boar. He can see a thin trail of blood running down Maria's face, which is obscured by pine needles. He observes her for a few more moments, seeing her bosom neither rise nor fall in that time. With a satisfied smile, he walks around to the driver's side.

Howard groans when Tony shakes him, and his eyes snap open when Tony digs a shard of glass from the broken window into the flesh of his shoulder. His hands clutch weakly at the wheel, as if he was still driving, but soon fall lax. Howard's head turns towards Tony and his eyes widen, panic and pain warring with the desire for Tony to help him and the desire for Tony not to see him in this position of weakness.

Tony leers at him, grabbing Howard's phone out of his breast pocket and throwing it to the ground, crushing the screen with the heel of his oxford. Howard's mouth soundlessly opens and closes, reminding Tony of a goldfish he once saw in a laboratory, lips gaping and closing as it googled at him- right before it was dropped into a beaker of hydrochloric acid to demonstrate the effects of acid on flesh.

Tony rips the glass out of Howard's shoulder, generating a pained groan that continues as Tony grabs his right hand and drags the glass over it, causing a rush of blood. He stares at Tony as he swipes a finger through the gore coating Howard's hand, pushing the digit into his mouth and sucking the blood off like a little kid with sherbet.

"Didn't you say that you bleed for no one, Howard?" He mocks. "You said that blood tasted like failure. But to me... I think it tastes like victory. I think it tastes like the absence of your voice in my life. Did you know that I hate your voice, Howard? It antagonises my nerves, like barbed wire being pulled over them like a violinist pulls his bow over his instrument's springs. For so long, I thought your voice sounded like repression. Now, your silence sings freedom in my ears."

Howard looks stunned, like he couldn't believe that Tony- poor, defenceless, weak, submissive _Tony_ -could ever stand up to him like this. But it isn't enough. He wants to see _recognition_ in Howard's eyes, wants to see the realisation of his flaws and shortcomings flash through his brain, leaving only truth behind. He wants Howard to see that for all that he has passed himself off as a jewel of the finest quality, in reality he is only the cheapest of replicas, only held together with resin and lies.

"Look at you now, Howard. See how you have fallen into the slop trough, fit only for pig feed. Can you feel tears in your eyes, Howard? Do you want to cry? Don't worry, I'll be here to pat your bottom and slam your face into the wall until you forget this silly illusion of comfort. You were never liked, Howard, and people only kissed your worthless ass because they knew that they could use it as a trampoline to get higher up the corporate ladder."

"Do you know why people hate you, Howard? It's because you're a selfish, egotistical prick who cares nought for the backs you break, instead using them as stepping stones to cross a river that is too vast for you to traverse. You have ruled with a whip in your hand instead of a treat, and so all the human animals you employ jump at pleasure and embrace pain as a way of moving forwards, not backwards. You truly are a dismal failure, Howard, a dying star eclipsed by a brighter sun. Accept who you are, Howard, because hell has sent you so many invites that it would be the height of rudeness to refuse once more. This time, you'll accept."

Howard still hasn't said a word, but his face is pale and his voiceless communications have been reduced to the occasional twitch of his pallid lips. He is still conscious though, the defeat in his eyes and the wheeze of his breath betraying him.

"You know, I might turn out to embody all the things that I've just said. But there's one difference. The name on people's lips won't be _Howard_. It'll be _Tony_."

With those words, Tony turns to a cluster of pines that border the road, throwing the trees a crisp military salute. Seconds later, something small and black comes flying through the air and lands inches from his left foot. Tony bends to pick up the gun, a sleek Colt, and flicks off the safety. Aiming carefully, he fires at the fuel tank, creating several punctures that immediately start dribbling petrol onto the forest floor.

Tony pulls a white lighter out of his pocket and flicks it on.

"Did you know, Howard, that you're 47 years late? Does that make you worried that you won't be allowed to join the young and famous? Don't worry, you'll be allowed in. You played people like a master and you knew how to work a crowd. Everyone loved the vitriol that dripped from your lips, lapping it up like thirsty dogs at a bowl. They'll welcome you with open arms, into their nest of vice and sin and serpents."

He drops the lighter into the fuel and watches as it ignites instantly, fire racing back to the car like a partner returning in a dance. He runs away almost before the lighter leaves his hands, sprinting through the trees until he thinks he's reached a safe distance, before turning around to see the car go up in a great golden ball of fire, like a dark Phoenix being released back into the night.

The sound of a branch being snapped catches Tony's attention, and he whirls around to see the tall, imposing bulk of the _enhanced_ killer that HYDRA calls the Asset. The Asset does not move as Tony approaches, but his eyes regard Tony like a cougar eyes a deer, seeking weakness and gathering information in preparation to strike.

The Asset stands like a stone statue as Tony reaches up and carefully touches the inner corners of his eyes. His fingertips come back stained grey, but dry.

He then touches the corners of his own eyes, and examines his fingers. Not a hint of moisture.

**_Perfect men don't cry._ **

He scans the Asset's body with his eyes, but sees no marks, not even scratches from the branches he must have hidden among to complete his mission.

He then looks at himself, even running a hand over his face. No wounds, no blood.

**_Perfect men don't bleed._ **

He looks at the Asset's face, but it is a blank, emotionless mask. Tony tries to read his eyes, but it's like trying to find his way in a blizzard. Just smooth, blank, featurelessness wherever he searches.

He examines his feelings over dropping the lighter in the fuel and seeing the car go up in flames, hears the echo of what might've been Howard screaming or a branch exploding. He feels nothing. No remorse. Only the pure, unfiltered knowledge that he has finally done something right.

**_Perfect men show no mercy._ **

"You are perfect." He whispers. "No wonder they see so many uses for you."

He removes the knife from its place, hidden under his shirt, and unwraps the thick strips of cloth covering it. He presents it to the Asset, blade first.

A challenge.

The Asset accepts, stepping forward and grasping the blade with his metal hand and secreting it away in some hidden sheath.

"Thank you." He says, then turns to go back to his car.

**_He is perfect._ **

 

Days after the accident, Tony Stark created a lie. It was a complicated lie, but beautiful in its simplicity, but the media ate it up like they always do.

_"I never got to say goodbye to my father. There's questions I would've asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch of man we remember from the newsreels."_

―Tony Stark

 

_Many years later:_

Bucky finds Tony tinkering in his workshop, and he doesn't say anything as he walks to the 'break room' of Tony's workshop, expecting him to follow. When Tony comes in, Bucky's facing the window, staring out at the New York skyline, lit up by a thousand twinkling lights that glow and flicker in the night like neurons and synapses in a brain. 

"I don't have many memories of my time as the Asset." Bucky says, and his voice is careful, measured. "But I do have one memory in my mind that's as clear as the sunshine in a Brooklyn summer."

He turns around, and in his hands is a knife. It's a plain knife, double-bladed with a matte black handle, but its uncomplicated functionality is clear. Bucky presents it to Tony handle first, gripping the blade with his metal hand.

Tony takes it, and nods.

Bucky nods too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Sometimes, I wonder if people can see the man behind the mask. Then I remember that we're all at a masquerade ball, everybody dancing around each other in circles and surreptitiously stepping on toes, growing ever-flashier in their moves to stay ahead of the competition. It's funny, really, what finally killed the industry._

_The last dance._

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a link to the details of the secret club, if you didn't get the reference. [The Secret Club](http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=198530)
> 
> Also, I loooove comments and kudos (hint hint, nudge nudge), so make it rain!


End file.
